The All American Rebel
by Knight of the Sun
Summary: On the train, Harry meets an American student by strange circumstances. But where does she come from? And why is she so sensitive about her origins? DMOC, HPOC On Hiatus for the moment.
1. The Mysterious Girl

Hi! It's me! (Who else would it be?) ::drumroll:: My first Harry Potter Fanfic! Yay! Wee-shnaw!(See profile) Ahem. ::Regains composure:: ::Loses composure and runs away like a mad....woman?:: ::OC eneters to take place::

**Diana**: Ola! I'm Diana, from The Girl, The God, and The Demons (Read it!) and I'm going to do the disclaimer since the authoress is....er....::glaces at still-running authoress:: occupied.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything! No one on this frickin' site owns anything! If you think I own anything, then your really stupid!

**The All American Rebel**

Chapter Uno: The Mysterious Girl

A teenaged boy with messy black hair stared out of the train's window, his brilliant green eyes distracted through his circular glasses. He subconsciously rubbed a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his head. A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Harry, mate, are you alright?" a freckle-faced redhead sitting next to him inquired worriedly. Harry turned from the window, dreading the empathetic looks on his friends' faces.

"Yes, Harry. You've been quiet lately." a girl with bushy brown hair, sitting across from the boys added, looking up from her book, entitled "Advanced Arithimancy." Harry noticed each of their concerned looks and sighed. _No need to include them in my problems..._he thought regretfully.

"Nah, don't worry about me. I'm fine," he said to them, attempting to be nonchalant. The redhead shrugged, still looking worried, while the girl hid behind her book once again, although Harry could sense her gaze. "It's not like I don't appreciate the concern, it's just....err...." he trailed off, unable to find words to express himself. "We should change," he finished, thinking of something to fill the awkward silence. His friends sighed and joined in retrieving their luggage down from the storage shelf above their compartment.

As the three rummaged through their trunks, looking for robes, they heard the compartment door gently slide open. Harry suddenly felt a searing pain across his forehead; it was as if a thousand needles were piercing him. His vision became blurry from the pain and he dropped the piece of clothing he was holding (an old sock) as he fell to the floor, kneeling while he clasped his scar tightly. Harry saw a blurry figure with odd colored hair kneel down toward him, but then he saw no more.

* * *

When Harry awoke, people were crowding around him, whispering worriedly. A loud, obnoxious voice reached his ears, one he would rather not have heard. 

"Well, well, well. Look who's gotten up. Going for a new record, scarhead? 'First student in the hospital wing?'" the voice of Draco Malfoy drifted into his head. Harry struggled to get up and grasp his wand, ready to duel the blonde-headed bully. No sooner was he up than the Slytherin shot a spell at him. "Petrificus Totalus!" he yelled, but Harry blocked it effortlessly. He had been practicing his defense all summer long, and was ready to put it to good use. Raising his wand, Harry began to cast a spell; however, he wasn't the one to attack his long-time enemy.

A girl whom Harry had never seen before kicked Malfoy forcefully in his privates, forcing him into a painful kneel. Nearby, two large boys cracked their knuckles threateningly. The girl laughed jovially, as if they were the funniest thing she had ever seen.

"This is great, just great," she said with an American accent, clapping her hands together to emphasize the hilarity of the situation. "You think _you_ can scare _me_? How stupid are you?! But then again, when you look like giant slugs, I guess you think like them, too." She laughed, along with the rest of the compartment. "Wooo, I think that's enough funny for one day." She looked around at all of the other students, some of them still snickering. "Well, go on! Get out! Nothing to see here! Scar-boy is awake!" When they lingered for a moment she continued, "Get the fuck away!" They all scattered away hurriedly, the two boys she had insulted stopping momentarily to drag their leader away.

The girl sighed and, taking a seat next to Hermione, grabbed a pair of headphones from her small denim backpack, as well a book, titled "Hogwarts, a History." Harry looked at her curiously, taking in her unique appearance.

She had black hair, as dark as Harry's, but it was a covered by many stylish blonde streaks cascading through it. Her dyed red bangs flopped over a silver bandana, folded into a headband and placed across her forehead, as if covering something. Her skin, free of blemishes, was a milky white with natural looking blush. An earring depicting a thin wand hung from each earlobe and two silver stud earrings pierced the top rim of both of her ears. She fingered a leather strap around her neck, on which a lightning bolt-shaped pendant hung, almost identical to Harry's scar. She moved her head rhythmically to whatever she was listening to and her enchanting blue eyes, similar to Dumbledore's, scanned the pages of her book rapidly.

She looked up unexpectedly and noticed Harry's gaze as he hurriedly looked away, figuring that it would be impolite to stare. She sighed exasperatedly, removed her headphones, her music still on, and looked directly into his green eyes. Harry gulped as he was forced to stare into her deep eyes, and his nervousness pushed the slight stinging of his scar to the back of his mind.

"What? Do you want to listen or do you just like checking me out?" she asked abruptly, holding out the pulsating headphones to him. He was momentarily distracted by her black-tipped nails, but a nudge from a surprised Ron shook him out of his trance.

He hurriedly shook his head and, with prompting from Hermione, replied. "No, thank you. What's your name anyway?"

"Hilary," she answered shortly, once again reaching into her backpack. She put away the book and the headphones and took out a magazine titled "ym" which a still picture of an actor. Ron, who had previously been ignoring her presence, saw this as an opportunity to add to the awkward conversation.

"Are you muggle born!?" he said, a little too excitedly. She gave him a piercing look with those bright blue eyes, one which made it clear that he had said the wrong thing.

"I don't know," she said shortly, anger evident in her voice. _Why wouldn't she know?_ Harry thought, confused but getting slightly angry. Hermione sensed Hilary's anger and discreetly scooted away from her. Hilary then seemed to realize the impression her statement had made and continued, much more relaxed. "It's not that I'm offended." Hermione relaxed, as did the boys. Hilary smiled encouragingly at the girl seated next to her. "Mudbloods are okay. It's not their fault." Hermione, as well as the other two, tightened up, their comfort gone. They were the opposite: angry.

"What's not their fault? Their birth?" Harry retorted rudely. Hilary shrugged, oblivious to, or perhaps ignoring, the hostile air as she continued to thumb through her magazine, unconcerned. "What the hell is your problem!? Are so close-minded that--" Harry began to yell, letting his temper free as he and Ron began to grow angrier. Hilary cut him off calmly.

"Dude, chill out. It's just a word. It. Means. Nothing," she said looking straight at him. He shrugged angrily and let the subject drop as Hermione and Ron glared daggers at her in unison. Hilary ignored them as she put away the magazine and pulled out her school robe, putting it over her clothes (a small, black midriff shirt and a short denim skirt, held up by a pink studded belt.) haphazardly. She made sure that her shoes, black boot-like Converse with black laces, could be seen quite plainly. A whistle sounded throughout the train, signifying that they had arrived. "See ya at the sorting." Hilary said cheerfully as collected her things and exited the compartment, tactfully ignoring the three glares which she received as a response.

"Talk about insensitive!" Hermione exclaimed as Hilary's dyed hair swung out of sight. She tugged at her trunk, accidentally dropping it on Ron's foot in her frustration.

"Ow!" he exclaimed as he shot a dirty look at Hermione.

"Blame Hilary! She's made me all frustrated!" she said, moving her trunk. As they began to get into an argument, Harry suddenly realized how close-minded they were acting.

"It's not her fault," he said, feeling an unexplained surge of loyalty toward the offensive American. Ron and Hermione looked at him, surprised. It then seemed to occur to them how improperly they were acting as they both nodded soberly. "Let's go, we don't want to be late," he finished and led them out, feeling an odd sense of accomplishment.

A/N: Well, there ya go. My people are famous for bad tempers, so expect the unexpected. The sorting is next....MUWHAHAHAHA! As always, please read and review!


	2. The Sorting of a Different Sort

**HarmonyHanyou:** Thank you! I totally agree; people should review this more!

**Demonphonix:** Thank you for your review. Why is she mean? Hmm...Well, you'll just have to read and find out.

**Moon Archer:** Don't worry. I forget what I'm about to say all the time. Blame the sugar. Thank you for the review!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. That is J.K. Rowling's privilege ::runs away, crying::

**The All American Rebel**

Chapter Dos: The Sorting of a Different Sort

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked toward the seemingly horse-less carriages they heard an excited laugh.

"Oh my goodness! I _so_ didn't know Hogwarts had Thestrals! How awesome!" a voice that they recognized vaguely as Hilary's sounded throughout the cold air. The trio momentarily stopped, as did many others, to ponder her reaction.

"She's happy?!" Ron said incredulously, looking between Harry and Hermione, as if they knew the reason behind her reaction. "Why the bloody hell would somebody be happy to see death?!" His friends shook their heads, at a loss for words. They continued their walk to the carriage, while Harry thought, _Why? Maybe someone she didn't like died...Maybe she killed someone!_ He then realized what he had almost accused her of. _Get a grip on yourself, Potter. She may just be weird. I doubt it, but still..._ He dazedly bumped into the kid ahead of him, who, after discreetly glancing at his forehead, gave him a dirty look. Harry caught sight of a silvery serpent on his robes. _Slytherin..._he thought disgustedly, walking away hurriedly to find Ron and Hermione.

* * *

Harry watched the first years interestedly as they filed into the great hall, most of them staring dazedly between the swirling grey clouds that made up the ceiling and the many students filling the table. He noticed Hilary near the back, waving to him widely. He waved back, face burning from embarrassment. She turned from him and, resting her arm on a first year's head (who scowled at her while she smiled widely), looked on in obvious boredom as McGonagall put a raggedy old hat on a small stool. The hall quieted down as a stitching near the brim opened, rather like a mouth, and began to sing.

_Welcome students, small and tall,_

_Welcome to Hogwarts this fall,_

The hat continued its song, but Harry did not listen to it, staring instead at Hilary's shocked face. Hadn't she ever heard a hat sing before? The singing died down, and –finally, as Ron reminded them- the sorting began.

"Ambrosia, Amber." McGonagall's voice rang through the hall, although she was interrupted by Hilary's short laugh. The American's face colored slightly as a shy, blonde first year gave her a dirty look, before being sorted into Ravenclaw. Harry smiled encouragingly in Hilary's direction; she shrugged, as if to say, 'what can you do?' and pulled out a pair of headphones from within her robe, all while still resting her elbow on the displeased first year.

After what seemed like an eternity to Harry's hungry mind, the first years completed their sorting, leaving only Hilary, smiling nonchalantly as she leaned against the wall, playing with her streaked hair, headphones around her slender neck. McGonagall picked up her paper once more and scanned it.

"Aparcar, Hilary" McGonagall yelled, obviously mispronouncing "Aparcar" as Hilary walked up to the raggedy hat, rolling her eyes to Harry. She sat down on the stool, winking at any guy she happened to think was cute, including both Harry and Ron (To Hermione's scowl). McGonagall whispered something into her pierced ear and the girl nodded, taking the hat from old, wrinkled hands and donned it in a stylish fashion, faded black contrasting against bright red bangs. She jumped a little, hearing a voice in her head.

_Well, well, well, Ms. Aparcar. So we finally meet..._ Hilary gulped, but tried her hardest to appear unruffled. _Well, you certainly have an interesting past, to say the least._ At this, Hilary became intensely curious, although she covered it with anger.

_What do you know!? Don't pry into my mind!_ The hat gave something which sounded vaguely like a laugh.

_You don't know anything, do you? Well, I guess that makes sense..._

_Just shut up and sort me!_

_Very well, very well..._The hat sighed, as if disappointed that he could not interrogate her further. _Well, you seem to want to help others, and you are loyal...Extremely bright, yes, you certainly have potential, yes, lots of it...Hufflepuff, perhaps?_ Hilary, having calmed down, flared up once more. "Huff-" The hat began to yell, but was interrupted.

"Hell no, bitch!" Hilary yelled loudly, her voice ricocheting off of the stone walls; she was not pleased at all with the idea of Hufflepuff.

The hat quickly changed its decision, saying "Slytherin!" instead. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked at Malfoy in unison, smirking as Hilary took a seat next to the vexed prefect.

The students laughed at the quick change, as the teachers looked on disapprovingly, all except one, seated next to Snape. He had long brown hair pulled into a ponytail like Bill's and wore a plain black robe. His blue eyes, identical to Hilary's, contrasted against his tan skin. From one of his ears, there hung an earring, shining in the bright hall, but Harry could not tell what it was. The mysterious man looked at the temperamental American, who was currently making fun of Malfoy, to the laughter of her house table. His look could almost be called one of pride, although Harry wasn't quite sure why.

Harry pointed him out to Ron, who gasped. "Harry...." he breathed, eyes shining. "That's Franqueza Desafio!" Harry gave his friend a confused look. However, it was Hermione who answered his unspoken question.

"He's an American wizard of Spanish descent, and, from what I've read, he's got a fair bit of talent." Ron stared at her, slack-jawed.

"'Fair bit of talent'?! Hermione, they say he rivals Dumbledore himself!" Ron looked at the man in awe, watching as he talked casually to Snape, who was, for once, not scowling. In fact, he looked as if he were laughing, as unlikely as that was. Harry rubbed his eyes hard, so as to make sure that he wasn't seeing things. He wasn't; there Snape was, laughing and shaking the man's hand in a friendly manner. Ron turned to Harry, just as bewildered as the black-haired boy. A sudden question arose in Harry's mind.

"What does he have to do with Hilary, though?" In response to their slightly confused looks, he added, "He seemed to know her." The two shrugged and Harry let the subject drop, instead focusing on the newly arrived feast, which, he noticed, Hermione wrinkled her nose at, as if displeased.


	3. The First Potions

**The All American Rebel**

Chapter Three: The First Potions

The Gryffindor common room rang with noisy chatter as Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat in a cozy corner, attempting to do their assignment. However, rather than working, they were busy discussing the first couple days of the term.

"That was... Interesting, wasn't it?" Hermione commented, referring to the most recent class they'd had: Potions. "That Hilary is really something..." She trailed off, a little ill at ease.

"She's downright crazy! I'm betting her other school was an insane asylum!" Ron responded, eyes glittering as though he deeply respected craziness.

"She went to that private academy in Salem, didn't she?" Harry interjected, sucking on the end of his quill, trying to recall Dumbledore's speech the previous day. It slowly came back to him, for he had not really paid attention.

"Welcome, students!" The white-haired wizard had yelled by way of welcome from the teachers' table, standing up, star-spangled robe shining in the Great Hall's light. "We have the..." He paused a little, unsure of what to say, it seemed. "Privilege of being host to a transfer student this year." He indicated Hilary, who acknowledged the rest of the school with a large, rather royal wave of her hand, smiling with a slight arrogance. Dumbledore continued, although dark mutters could be heard through the hall. It seemed that Hilary had already made some enemies. "She come to us from a private academy in Salem, and will only be staying this year, so I expect that you will show her what being at Hogwarts is all about!" There were some scattered cheers, particularly Dean's "Woop, woop!" Dumbledore smiled at his enthusiasm, then proceeded, "We also have a new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher this year, please welcome Professor Desafio!" The tan man stood up and took a regal bow, his blue eyes glued to Hilary all the while. She was glaring at him fiercely, her almost identical eyes sharp as daggers. He merely smiled, eyes twinkling. Dumbledore had then explained all the usual: Hogsmeade, the Forbidden Forest, Exams, etc. Hilary, Harry noticed, didn't listen and instead pulled out a CD player once more.

"Harry...? Are you awake?" Ron's voice broke through the sixteen-year-old's memory, sounding rather concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking..." The red-haired boy accepted this, and continued probing Hermione for answers to their potions worksheet, as Harry thought about Snape's class, which was, surprisingly, less torturous than usual. He had actually been able to get his potion finished, with little to no interference. Snape had been too busy hovering over Hilary, trying, it seemed to Harry, to find something wrong with it. Unfortunately, he was unable to; the potion was perfect, better even than Hermione's, which was saying something. Another bonus to that class occurred when Snape had begun to tell Hilary off for listening to music in class, to which she responded with a rather rude hand gesture and,

"Fuck off, grease ball." She accompanied this statement with a mocking sneer, showing exactly how much respect she had for him and authority in general. Miraculously, the bell rang right afterward and she rushed out, dyed hair swishing from underneath her silver headphones, stopping shortly to whisper to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, whom she seemed to adopt as her friends, "Saved by the bell!" With a wink, she then left to her next class: the ever fun lunch.

This will be a very interesting year... Harry thought to himself as he settled down to do his homework, slightly peeved as Parvati began annoying him, with Lavender in tow.

The next day at breakfast, the prejudiced eyes of the Slytherin table followed a girl's robed, curvaceous figure as her tall, black-furred boots walked the distance between her own house and the Gryffindor table, stepping on both cobblestone and precedent. Her mouth was pulled into an energetic smile and she waved to her three 'friends' as she approached. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, instead going back to her newspaper.

"What's up, my shiznet Gryffindor peeps? Fa shizzle mai nizzle." She said, as the surrounding students gave her the oddest looks they could muster.

"What?" Hermione said, also giving her an odd look.

"Don't tell me the all-powerful book-chick doesn't know American slang?" The American put her hand over her heart and, feigning like she was choking, fell the floor with a painful thud. "Ow..." She muttered, rubbing her head as she sat down once again. She glared at Harry, who was sitting to her left, staring at her oddly, confused by her just plain weirdness. "Yeah, that's right, fear me. I'll let it slid this time, punk, however, if you push me again, I will be forced to disembowel you with a spoon." She got up close to his face, so close that he could smell traces of strawberry shampoo in her red bangs, which she had delicately styled this morning, placing them in front of a rather sparkly headband which withheld the remainder of her hair. Her forehead held a very small niche in it, but it was sufficiently covered so that Harry could not see it. "A bent spoon at that." With a laugh and a wink, she then departed back to her own table, reveling in her 'humor.' Ron made a crazy sign with his finger, while Hermione just rolled her eyes.

"Well... At least she's... Unique?" Harry attempted in weak defense. His two friends looked at each other and shook their heads, smiling. Harry decided to change the subject. "We have Defense Against the Dark Arts today. I wonder what this Desafio will be like..." The others nodded, but didn't respond. Harry shrugged and, his thoughts elsewhere, began to eat his toast.


End file.
